


But Some You Win

by OnceUponaFangirl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6817471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceUponaFangirl/pseuds/OnceUponaFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mashup of some fluffy headcanons of mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Some You Win

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSassyWitchOfTheNortheast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSassyWitchOfTheNortheast/gifts).



_A/N: So this is titled after Nina Nesbitt's "Some You Win" ~~which really doesn't fit this fic at all~~  and was a birthday present I posted for the bestie about a month ago. I'm really not that great at fluff but the effort is there. _

 

They may not have been able to split a heart, but he knows hers is the reason his beats.  A rhythmic reminder of the love she has for him. (Limitless, she had called it when she found him bloody and beaten in the Underworld, vowing to bring him home and never stop fighting for him -  _ her happy ending _ .) But the memories, the pain of losing and finding and fighting and darkness still linger. It never completely ebbs away, an unconscious pull that finds her palm resting against his chest throughout the day. It’s what lulls her to sleep, her ear pressed against his skin letting the soft thumping soak into her, reaffirm her of his presence and his life. She’s felt the beautiful song of his heartbeat, her other half. cease beneath her grip one too many times. She’s seen his heart outside of his chest while he kneeled  _ begging  _ for the life about to be stolen away. The guilt and pain of not knowing it had been missing gnawed away at the pit in her stomach weeks after the ordeal. So she checks. 

 

With him, her walls no longer exist - shattered in death, loss, grief, rebirth and a true love paralleled by none. It’s a newfound vulnerability that leaves her open to the wounds of her past and not so hidden insecurities (wounds that he heals little by little with adoration and understanding in the sea of his eyes, comfort of his touch, and unwavering support.) 

 

She counts the beats sometimes. He can always tell when she’s counting, the mental pause and slowed breathing that syncs to the rhythm of silent numbers. Usually it calms her but this is different. Nothing seemed to provoke the heaviness she feels. He listens to her breathing; foreheads pressed against each other in the still of their kitchen and her nails lightly scratching at the hair that resides there. Before Camelot he might have made a quip about not worrying because he’s a survivor, but the words mock them now. 

 

“Are you alright, Swan?” he asks in a whisper, tucking her hair behind her ear with a melancholic smile.  

 

“Yeah, I - The dwarves caused a small fire at the Rabbit Hole and as if trying to get a full truthful story out of Leroy was hard enough, try doing when he’s hungover. And now they’re talking lawsuits and-”

 

“Long day?”

 

“Too long.” 

 

Her fingers stop their ministrations and she presses them harder against his chest, anchoring herself in this moment and letting the scent of Killian and feel of his hand rubbing soothing circles into the small of her back cloud her senses. It's a small comfort when exhaustion and stress are wearing her thin, to feel his heartbeat and fall into his embrace. But it's one they've both grown accustomed to and becomes a cycle of sorts. She works herself too hard, trying to be the version of Emma that each individual needs, forgetting to take care of herself in the process.  

 

“When’s the last time you ate?” he inquires with a hint of worry in his voice that makes her heart sink. 

 

She thinks back to the half a granola bar she scarfed down hours ago, and comes up blank after that. In fact. she isn’t sure she ate the day before either, instead spending her time scouring the forests of Storybrooke call after call. The residents are always in chaos when night presents a full moon. “Can I plead the 5th?” 

 

“I haven’t a clue what that means, but there’s leftover chicken from Sunday in the fridge.”

 

“Mmm but after I eat will you promise to keep doing that with your hand?” 

 

“As the lady commands” he responds, earning him an eye roll before she pilfers through the fridge. 

 

She’s beautiful like this, in the in between state of awake and asleep, an unconscious sway in her step as she moseys back to the island with droopy eyes. There's something about the way the world seems to melt away, an unawareness in her gaze that always leaves him grinning. His beautiful, adorable Swan.  “Um, love? Aren't you going to heat that up first?” 

 

She shrugs, continuing to stab at the food with the pointed shiny metal. “It's fine like this. It's just grilled chicken.” 

 

“Yes but isn't that the benefit of your realms great technological advances?” 

 

“I'm hungry. You can waste time heating up your leftover food at 10pm next time you eat.” Her yawn, so wide he can hear her the pop of her jaw, beckons him behind her and she relaxes into his touch, his fingers massaging the ridges of her shoulder blade. Her sigh of content tells him all he needs and he continues his path, biting back a grin when her head falls back into the cotton of his t-shirt. “S’ nice.” she mumbles, languidly eating and reveling in his touch until the tupperware’s empty. 

 

There was a time when silence cut sharp through them, leaving both on edge with anticipation and unnervingness, but now it is a welcome solace. She’s so exhausted and the curve of his hook is pressing into the knots in her back, his breath ghosting across her ear.  

 

It’s perfect. These stolen, quiet moments that no longer feel quite so foreign. 

 

He lures her upstairs with the promise of sleep not yet sought, watching her strip with heated cheeks and adoration as she rummages through his t-shirt drawer. She slips the navy cotton over her head and grants him a sleepy smile as she  cases her way into the bathroom, reemerging minutes later to curl up next to him. 

 

“Your eyes are pretty.” She says, a softness in her tone that’s only found when sleep is teetering on taking claim of her. “They're very blue.” 

 

“Aye, and yours are a beautiful emerald. Now go to sleep, Emma.” he whispers, thumb caressing the round of her cheek. 

 

She hums in response, tucking her legs between his, entangling them together. “Killian?” 

 

“Yes, love?” He ends the question with a sigh, running his fingers through her hair. 

 

“Did you ever meet a dinosaur?” His eyes go wide, laughing off the query with a _Bloody hell, Swan! Is that an age joke?_ She vehemently denies it with the shake of her head, babbling on about dragons and then bigfoot. It lasts about 15 minutes, always accompanied by a compliment, whether it be the perfect shape of his jaw, the softness of his hair, or how warm he keeps her. The longer the deliria goes on, the less articulate she becomes, bubbles of laughter erupting from her chest at whatever nonsense she's chasing. He plays along, waiting for the delirium to subside and planning all new ways to tease her the next morning. 

 

(Which he does as she finishes her cup of coffee.)

  
(And she can’t say she minds it when the jokes come in between sloppy, open mouthed kisses.)


End file.
